I want to live in a country where publicly campaigning for political office violates a basic social contract. Where offenders are shamed for participating in a loathsome, detestable activity. Where we view it for what it actually is: a repugnant, self-aggrandizing, borderline narcissistic circus. Where the hyperbolic rhetoric, the media sensationalism, and the pandering to basic human emotions is morally disgusting.
We all live on a silent island. It’s freezing and I shut the windows, but I’m still unequivocally cold. When I feel cold, I hear the reverberating sound of a maternal voice telling me to “put on a sweater”. I don’t even own a sweater.
The mornings are challenging. Someone throwing an iced bucket of pain on my face, and I’m instantly wide awake unable to think about anything except the things I’d soon forget. My mind grasps for a resting spot where I can watch those other memories storm by.
This morning’s restful spot was about how my friend recently said that what I’m feeling “is human”. If being human is what this is, natural selection is a cruel beast. Yet, it’s comforting to think that my genes are controlling me more than my irrational free will.
What is the evolutionary advantage to heartbreak? Does it make sure that we learn to not take love for granted? Does it force us to relentlessly pursue someone who’s not in our best interest? Does it make us hyper-sensitive to the relationships that are undoubtedly meaningful?
He was already running ten minutes late. His stubble and hair were the worst combination of terrifying and unsightly. If Charlie was going to make it to Hattie’s birthday then he needed to finish piping the red buttercream frosting. Red was Hattie’s favorite color and he promised hand-crafted pastries weeks ago.
He was fifteen minutes late when the last bit of frosting was on. This is getting ridiculous. He surgically placed all of the little treats into a semi-opaque shallow box designed for the singular purpose of hosting a dozen cupcakes. He placed the container inside his bag, careful not to disturb the architecture of the frosting.
In order to not be late, Charlie needed to rush four blocks as fast as he could without running. He clutched the bag to his chest speed-walking while smuggling a confectionery sleeping baby.
Charlie cracked the door to the subway station with one finger and used his right foot for the rest. His frantic, sweaty face looked around for a conveniently absent clock. Keeping the bag level with one hand, he reached for the subway pass in his back pocket. He is interrupted with a stern and deliberate, “Stop!”
A shiny badge and pleated uniform repeats the single word instruction again. In the distance, a chorus of mechanical voices says, “The train is approaching.” Charlie says, “I need to… just… if I could please… my train…” Unaffected, the badge says, “I’m going to have to take a look in your bag.”
Charlie sighs while gingerly extending his bag. The officer snatches the package and drops it onto a white plastic table. The officer shamelessly separates the zipper to reveal a frosting massacre inside the plastic box. Then, in the background Charlie hears, “The doors are about to close.”
Regular status means upon entering a point of service (restaurant, coffee shop) your exact order can be anticipated without any verbal or physical prompting.
My friend Dave Schlafman is the professional at regular status. He has more regular status in the metro Boston-area than anyone I know–probably dozens of restaurants and coffee shops. I’ve known this about him since we were at college together. I believe I have distilled down what exactly are the qualities that make regular status possible using Dave as a test case.
If you do these three things time after time, I believe you will be able to attain regular status (but probably not as much as Dave).
The difference between a pierogi and a bodega is that one is filled with sauerkraut and potato and the other with cigarettes and lottery tickets.
I went alone to a matinee movie this morning. I was a little early and for awhile was the only person in the theater. A couple then walked in and was ushered to the seats directly behind me. This was at the Arclight so the seats were assigned. I went from feeling generally relaxed and comfortable before they sat down to anxious and restless. Why is it that in a large empty room when total strangers are forced in close proximity is there a tendency to want to separate?
Is this a case of diffusion–to move from a high concentration to a low concentration, thereby increasing the entropy? I don’t think so. Diffusion seems overly simplistic. If I walked into a room of randomly scattered people and I recognized a person, I would go and talk to them. Entropy has no friends.
Maybe, there must be some evolutionary survival advantage to not cluster among unfamiliar strangers–probably because of the fear of competition for resources. Or maybe my anxiety was born of a cultural fear of being in a dark theater with my back toward two unknown people. It could also easily have been my anti-social tendencies–I was, of course, willingly watching a movie by myself. I think I buy the first explanation (survival advantage) more readily and the reason that I didn’t move to another seat was cultural (respecting assigned seating, fear of offending, etc).
And in case you were wondering the movie I saw was Choke. It was okay.